Mutated
by PiptheSnake
Summary: Harry has been abandoned by the Dursley's in a New York alleyway and beaten within an inch of his life. A certain Cajun thief is passing by at just the right moment and saves Harry. After a few weeks, Harry gets adopted! How will the wizard-turned-mutant feel about the X-Men? And how will the wizarding world feel about being abandoned by their saviour? AU
1. Chapter 1

**Title:** Mutated (might be changed...)

**Rating**: T (subject to changes)

**Characters:** Mostly Harry Potter and Remy LeBeau/Gambit; some others will be included

**Warnings:** light/dumbledore/weasley/granger!bashing, jean/scott!bashing, possibly mild slash (kissing, cuddles etc.)

**A/N's:** Hello! I notice that this certainly isn't the largest Xover archive there is... I know next to nothing about the X Men (except for occasional watching of the TV Show Wolverine and the X Men), so please PLEASE don't go on a rampage if I mess something up. I'm hoping it's mostly correct, but I'm using Wikipedia and the likes, so... might not be accurate... Plus I'm tweaking some things so that they match what I want! I know that Remy's accent is terrible in this, but I've never written anyone with an accent before! I'm sorry... Don't hurt me! I'll try to update every time I reach 10,000 words (or thereabouts), so updates will be sporadic, to say the least. Please enjoy! Don't hate...

**Disclaimer:** I don't own the Potter!Verse or the XMEN!Verse, so don't sue me!

CHAPTER 1

Gambit flew on silent feet over the rooftops, perfectly at ease in the velvet darkness of the night, a small grin on his face. Messing the feral - Logan - was too much fun. As he passed over a particularly dark alley, the shadows seeming all-consuming, he heard a small noise that stopped him abruptly.

There was an innocent in there.

Backtracking, he dropped gently into the blackness, keen, red on black eyes piercing the oppressive darkness. The child whimpered again, louder and slightly to Remy's left.

"Please! Please don't, Uncle Vernon!" He murmured, accent clearly British, "I promise to not do anymore freaky things!"

The distress of the child - who was actually an abnormally small, skinny teenager - was becoming more and more apparent, and Remy had to restrain himself from finding this 'Uncle Vernon' and teaching him about true 'freakiness'. Unable to watch the innocent suffer, he slowly approached the clearly abused teen.

"What's yo'r name, cheri?" he murmured quietly, just loud enough to be heard.

The whimpering stopped instantly, and Remy felt more than saw the boy move away from his voice.

"Wh-who are you!" he yelped.

"I be Gambit, cheri," responded the mutant softly as he made a show of extending his empty hands and sitting cross-legged on the ground, "but yo; may call me Remy."

"What do you want? Why are you here?" He seemed to be less tense now that Remy was sitting and seemingly unarmed, but still wary.

"I heard you ou'side de alley, cheri, an' I couldn' leave yo' here withou' tryin' ta help."

"Why would you want to help the freak?" snapped the youth. Remy smiled slightly.

"Would yo' like ta see a trick, cheri?" he asked, using the same voice he would on an injured animal.

"What does it involve?" was the wary response.

"Yo' ain' no more freak den me, cheri," he said instead of actually answering the question.

"Prove it!"

Gambit reached into his coat slowly, pulling out one of his cards. He watched the shadows where the boy was hidden, keeping an ear out for trouble, as he charged the card with energy.

A pinkish light filled the dark space, illuminating it slightly like a dying candle.

"Would yo' come out da shadows, cheri?" coaxed the mutant, his slightly glowing, unnatural eyes soft.

The shadows shuffled around a bit, before the skin-on-bones form limped out of the darkness to the edge of the small ring of dim light.

Rags hung from his fragile form like the weed witches hair, grey in colour and torn into pieces. The long, thin arms hung limply, one bent into an odd shape and the other covered in bruises. The boy's face was delicate, like spun glass, with only a puffy eyelid, swollen closed and deep purple, obscuring a bright green iris, to show that the teen wasn't ok.

"Oh, cheri," murmured Remy softly, the card's charge diminishing as his arm dropped into his lap.

"My name's Harry," murmured the teen, head hung in embarrassment to cover the flush of pink spreading over his cheeks like a sunset.

"Would yo' come wit' me ta my home, Harry?" asked Remy softly. The glowing green eyes narrowed suspiciously.

"Why? He questioned sharply.

"Ta care fo' yo', cheri," he murmured, "turn back any damage done ta yo' an' den let yo' decide what yo' wan' ta do."

Harry mulled it over. It was clear that the man - Remy - didn't have the intention to harm him.

"Do you live alone?" He demanded.

"O' course, cheri; nobody wan' ta share wit' de t'eif."

"Theif?"

"I got ta earn somet'ing somehow, cheri."

Although the suspicion in Harry's eyes was obvious, he nodded.

"Until I can care for myself," he enforced, receiving a nod.

"O' course, cheri," murmured the thief softly.

"It's Harry," he grumbled as he followed Remy out and into the night.

The Dursley's were on holiday in America. New York, to be exact. This surprised Harry for two reasons.

Firstly, they had brought Harry with them. Always, Harry was left with nasty relatives, babysitters, or just on his own. For the first time ever (excluding going to Hogwarts), Harry was outside the UK.

Secondly, New York had the highest population of known mutants - 'freaks', as Vernon put it - in the world today. Harry sometimes wondered if his relatives really were as stupid as they seemed.

They had been complaining about the large mutant population one moment, and then booking a flight to New York the next. Not only that, they were bringing their despised nephew with them.

Harry couldn't believe he didn't see it sooner.

On the last day of the holiday – which had been somewhat shorter than normal – Vernon had told Harry to get in the car. Without thinking, Harry complied. They drove for hours in silence, just the two of them, until they came upon a dark alley.

"Out, boy," growled the obese man. Harry stared at him, stunned.

"Uncle Vernon?"

"OUT!" he shouted, ugly face turning a beetroot colour. Harry was stunned; so much so that he didn't move. Vernon's red face turned purple as he tore off his seatbelt, shoved open the door and dragged Harry into the alley. When there, he threw Harry down and proceeded to beat Harry harder than before.

As the sun started its slow descent and the sky became pink, Vernon left. Harry, curled up in a defensive ball and bruised all over, started to cry.


	2. Chapter 2

CHAPTER 2

Harry's back was straight as a steel rod as he shot up in the soft, foreign bed. He relaxed minutely as memories of the seemingly kind-hearted Remy came back from the previous night. Letting his eyes roam, Harry took in his surroundings.

The room was simple, a bed king bed, dresser and wardrobe, and had two doors leading out into the larger living space.

As if he had sent out some psychic signal, a knock sounded at the door.

"Yo' up, cheri?" asked the soft voice through the door.

"Yea," Harry answered, wariness colouring his tone.

"Can I come in?" he continued.

Harry panicked when he realised that he wasn't wearing a shirt or his glamours.

"Uhh…" he responded intelligently.

"I be comin' in, cheri," stated the Cajun, opening the door slowly a moment after and stepping around it. Harry felt claustrophobic – even though the room was spacious – with the two of them in the small space.

As if by magic, Remy pulled the door open and moved to the side to sit on a chair in the corner. Harry could leave if he wanted.

"What do yo' remember?" he asked. Harry shrugged.

"You're name is Remy," he answered dutifully but in a quiet voice, "but it's also Gambit, which I don't understand. You can do some special form of magic, and you seem to care."

Remy nodded.

"Good," he said, "but magic? I be sure to avoid de Voodoo, cheri."

"Voodoo?" Harry suddenly worried. "You're not a wizard, are you?"

"Wizard?"

"Bloody hell," Harry murmured, burying his face in his hands as he continued to mumble. "Well done, Potter, you've gone and broken the Statute now. Wonder how the Ministry will take this one?"

"Cheri?" the thief asked tentatively.

"Yea?" Harry answered tiredly, rubbing his hands down his face.

"Whatcha mumblin' about; yo' ok?"

Harry sighed.

"In for a penny, in for a pound," he muttered, turning to face the mutant head on. His green eyes glittered angrily as he started to speak.

"The Statute is a Wizarding law in place that forbids us from telling muggles – normal people – about magic. I just blew it, and the Ministry – who create and enforce the laws – hate my guts."

"This ain' Voodoo, non?" demanded Remy shakily. He respected the art, but that didn't mean that he had to like it.

"No," Harry looked thoughtful, "I suppose Voodoo would fall into the illegal Black Magic category… If you don't have magic, then how did you do what you did with the card?"

Harry's eyes narrowed dangerously.

"Did you trick me?" he asked. Remy leaned back, eyes wide at the sudden turn in the teen he had rescued.

"I may be a t'eif, cheri," he said confidently, "but I ain' never trick yo' like tha' jus' ta get yo' ta come ta my home. Yo' was hurt, an' I wan'ed ta help yo'."

Harry sighed, though still on guard, and pulled a small, silvery, braided bracelet from his wrist. It was tightly woven Acromantula silk; a gift from Luna.

"Do it to this, then," he said, holding his hand out. Slowly, so as not to startle him, Remy stood and walked over to him, reaching out and taking the bracelet. With barely a thought, the bracelet glowed his signature purple-red as he charged it with his energy.

The teenager smiled.

"Thank you," he said, taking the bracelet back and sliding it over his left hand, as though Remy had just done something massive for him.

"Yo'r welcome?" Remy asked, unsure how to respond. A small grin shaped Harry's lips.

"How does that work if you don't have magic?" he asked curiously. The mutant's eyebrows pulled down for a moment in thought before he moved towards the bed.

"Can I sit on da bed ta explain, cheri?" he asked. After receiving a nod, he sat on the end corner and crossed his legs like in the alley the night before.

"I be a mutant, cheri," he started. Harry's eyes widened. "I can do what I do because I got a gene in me dat messed me up a li'l bit –" he paused for a moment "- kinda like da magic yo' was talkin' about."

Harry, to his surprise, nodded in understanding.

"That's probably why my Uncle chose New York to drop me off, then," Harry said. Remy's eyes glowed a little at the mention of Harry's uncle.

"Why is dat, cheri?" he murmured lowly, almost growling.

"He was probably hoping some mutant would come along and finish me," Harry answered bitterly, shoulders hunched.

"Would yo' like me ta go an'… give 'im a demonstration o' mutant abilities?"

Harry's eyes widened.

"Why?" he asked, surprised at the anger.

"Because he hurt yo', cheri," was the growled response, "an' I don' tolerate abuse."

Harry's surprised expression slackened into one of what could most closely be described as affection.

"No one's ever been angry on my part before, Remy," he whispered. The anger left the Cajun.

"Not even yo' friends, cheri?" he asked, voice soft. Harry's eyes grew hard.

"Every friend I ever thought I made was merely a tool to get me to sacrifice myself for 'The Greater Good'," he said sharply, voice mocking. Remy was shocked.

"Yo' neva had a true friend?"

"Never," Harry shook his head. Remy growled, causing the teen to jump.

"Sorry, cheri," he apologised, "but dat be makin' me angry. I be willin' ta be yo' friend any day o' da week, cheri."

"No strings attached?" Harry asked, again suspicious. Remy was honestly surprised by the mood swings of the teen, but then – thinking on everything that he'd uncovered so far – decided that, not only was he well within his rights to be unbalanced, but he himself was just as bad.

"Non, cheri," he answered, "no strings attached."

Harry smiled at him.

"Thank you," he whispered again.

"Not a problem, cheri."

"Why do you keep calling me that?"

"What, cheri?"

"That," Harry attempted to mimic it, "sherry…"

Remy smiled at his terrible pronunciation.

"I be from New Orleans," the way he said it made the name of the city seem to slur, "it merely be a term o' endearment. I be tryin' ta stop, if yo' like?"

"No," Harry said quickly, "it's fine!" He wouldn't admit it, but he rather liked it. It made him feel wanted more than any of the meaningless nicknames those _traitors_ had given him. The only true one had been Luna, but they had killed her in the DOM battle and blamed it on the Death Eaters. Harry scowled, expression darkening.

"Harry?" Remy, as an Empath, could feel the sadness and anger rolling off the teen as his expression darkened.

"Just remembering," he answered. The way Remy said 'Harry' sounded almost exactly like when he used that little term of endearment that Harry secretly liked.

Remy knew better than to push; he just sat at the end of the bed and waited. Finally, Harry snapped out of it.

"Where's the kitchen?" he asked suddenly. Remy watched him with a curious eye.

"Why yo' be wantin' ta know dat?" he asked.

"I want to make you breakfast as a thank you for helping me."

"Yo're restin'! Yo' need ta get better, cheri," protested the mutant. Harry looked at him sadly, the dreaded puppy-dog-eyes making an appearance.

"Please, Remy?" he pleaded, "just for today! I want to thank you!"

Remy caved with a sigh.

"Ok, cheri," he conceded, "but only dis once, yo' hear?"

"Yes, sir!" Harry laughed with a salute, climbing out of the bed and quickly pulling his torn baggy shirt over his head as he made his way to the bedroom door. Remy stopped him with a gentle, long-fingered hand.

"Not so fast, cheri," he said, "yo'r not wearin' dem rags no more. I got clothes dat fit yo'."

"You sure?" Harry asked, uncertain. He'd never worn anything other than Hogwarts robes and Dursley hand-me-downs. Remy nodded determinedly, standing up and dragging Harry gently across the hall to his own room.

"Sit on de bed," he commanded. Harry obeyed, watching with mild interest as the wardrobe was opened and some clothes pulled out. They would still be a bit big – as Remy was far bulkier than him due to his malnourishment – but they would fit better than anything he had worn before.

"Thanks," he murmured for what felt like the millionth time that morning as he stripped down to his underwear and changed quickly.

Remy watched, fascinated, as Harry changed right in front of him. With all the scars he could see, and the abuse he knew had been suffered by his new companion, he had expected a strong defence of his privacy. As if sensing his surprise, Harry looked him in the eye and answered the unasked question.

"You've seen," he said, "you already knew. If there were others, I wouldn't be as open."

Remy smiled at the trust already shown in him.

"Now, where's that kitchen!" Harry demanded mockingly. Remy laughed and led the way.


	3. Chapter 3

CHAPTER 3

Harry stood in the hallway, shifting his weight nervously from foot to foot, his bare toes brushing against the smooth wood. Dim candlelight cast shadows all around him as he bolstered his courage. Over the weeks he had been resting here – healing and learning little skills and tricks from the kind-hearted mutant who had picked him up off the streets after his abandonment – he had grown inexplicably fond of Remy. He didn't want to leave. Taking a deep breath, he raised his hand and knocked lightly on the door.

"Remy?"

Harry's soft voice floated through the wood of Remy's bedroom door, waking the dozing Cajun.

"Oui?" he called out, his voice slightly rough from sleep. Harry's head poked through the door, expression.

"Did I wake you?" he asked, "sorry…"

"Non, it be fine, cheri," Remy waved it aside, "what yo' be needin'?" Harry shuffled into the room, closing the door quietly behind him.

"I'm better now, Remy," he mumbled. Remy's heart dropped.

"Yo' wantin' ta leave now, cheri?" he asked, voice quiet. Harry shook his head vigorously.

"No!" he yelped, "no. I…"

"Yes, cheri?"

"Iwanttostayherewithyou," he mumbled quickly. Remy, mutant though he was, couldn't understand a word.

"Again, cheri?" he prompted, "a li'l slower, though." Harry blushed.

"I want to stay here with you, Remy," he mumbled, blush intensifying. Remy eyes grew wide.

Harry wanted to stay.

"I'll leave if you want me to," he continued, rambling, "I don't want to be a burden. I'll just go and pack my things then…" he got up and made to leave, but Remy's hand snaked around his wrist – much like on that first day – and stopped him.

"Non, cheri," he said softly, "I'd be honoured if yo'd like ta stay wit' me."

"R-really?" asked Harry, eyes wide and mouth open.

"Oui, cheri," Remy smiled softly, "I be wantin' yo' ta stay."

"W-would y-ou," Harry's nervousness came back. He had no idea how old Remy actually was, but he wanted to ask anyway. Drawing in a lungful of air, he tried again.

"Would you Blood Adopt me?" he asked, eyes closed. He had been allowed to stay, but he wondered if Remy would revoke that after this question.

"'Blood Adopt', cheri?" he asked, confused. Judging from the worried expression on Harry's face, he figured it was a big deal.

"A Blood Adoption means that it replaces one of my parents DNA with yours," Harry murmured, face turned down, right cheek brushing against the soft t-shirt covering his shoulders.

"Yo' be wantin' me fo' yo'r parent?" asked the Cajun, surprised, "yo' be sure? I ain' very good wit' responsibility, Harry."

Harry looked up sharply.

"You'd be willing?"

"O' course, cheri," Remy asserted, almost snorting at the thought of not wanting Harry, "but would it be what _yo' _want? Yo' truly sure?"

Harry beamed so brightly it looked as though the sun had relocated itself to Harry's face.

"I wouldn't have asked if I wasn't sure, Remy," he said, truly happy for the first time in a long time. Already planning the trip to Gringotts, a mischievous look lit upon his face.

"Cheri?" Remy asked, worried for whoever that look was aimed at, "what yo' be t'inkin'?"

"I wonder how the Wizarding World will react to the great Harry Potter no longer being a Potter?" Harry mused aloud. Remy scowled at the mention of the Wizards lazy ways.

They had already discussed the prophecy, and what ti meant for Harry's destiny, and decided that they Harry would leave the Wizarding World. Where he would have gone – as that conversation had been held weeks ago – had been conveniently ignored, but he would _not_ be going back to the world that lay the lives of every person on a teenager with no training, and used the same teenager as a scapegoat for their problems.

"Besides," Harry continued, "if we do this, Harry Potter will have technically died and the prophecy fulfilled."

"Smart thinking, cheri," murmured Remy, "but dey won' know dat, will dey?"

Harry smirked.

"Nope!" he said happily, making a popping noise with his lips to emphasise the word, "so they'd still be searching for a non-existent 'Harry Potter'. They're idiots; they won't figure it out."

"Ok, cheri," Gambit agreed, "how does dis Blood Adoption work, den?"

Harry's smirk widened.

"It's a top secret ritual at Gringotts bank," he said, "only the Goblins know how to do it so that no one can tamper with it."

"What about t'ose dat have had it done already, cheri? Dey remember it happening, oui?" he asked, mildly panicked if it meant someone would be shuffling things around in his head. Harry shook his head.

"Sworn to secrecy," he said simply, "goblin magic prevents them from speaking about it to anyone except the person in the ritual with them."

"What if someone be tryin' ta reverse de adoption?" asked Remy darkly, the unspoken 'Dumbledore' loud and clear.

"They can't," said Harry sharply, "that's why I suggested Blood Adoption instead of just a normal one."

Ok, cheri," he said, getting up and putting on his coat, "lead de way."

Harry smirked.

Before leaving the room, Harry muttered a quick Point Me (he'd been practicing his wandless magic when Remy'd been out) to find the entrance to an Alley. The nearest one, surprisingly, was a block away.

The trip went down without a hitch; no one recognised Harry now that he was taller and had longer hair.

"Let me speak, Remy," he whispered to his companion when they neared the entrance to the NYC Gringotts, "Goblins are fickle."

"'Kay, cheri," he whispered back as they entered the bank.

The goblins eyed them with distrust as they entered the bank; Remy exuded an aura that screamed 'not magic'. Harry glared at on when he sneered at them.

Making his way to the goblin that was in the centre of the bank, Harry strode up to him confidently.

"I'd like to inquire as to the contents of my vaults, and to perform a ritual," he stated. It was quick and to the point, but not in the snobby voice that most wizards used when speaking to other creatures.

"Key?" asked the goblin boredly.

"I was never given my vault key," Harry stated, scowling. The goblin looked up sharply.

"Do you know who has it?" it – he, Harry supposed –asked sharply.

"Last I knew, Molly Weasley had received it from Albus Dumbledore," Harry answered darkly. The goblin growled.

"Right this way Mr?"

"Potter," he muttered under his breath. The goblin raised a single eyebrow, but said nothing as he led them away.

"Which ritual did you wish to perform, Mr Potter, so that we may set up accordingly whilst this issue with your key is sorted?" asked the goblin.

"I would like to be Blood Adopted by my companion," Harry answered. The goblin again raised an eyebrow.

"Mother or father?"

"Father," harry answered immediately. He would rather lose any semblance to James Potter he had.

"Of course, sir," the goblin answered, "we shall prepare the ritual chamber for the event to occur in one hour. Is that acceptable, sir?"

"Of course, Master Goblin," Harry answered politely, noting that – after mentioning the removal of harry from the Potter lineage – the goblin had refrained from calling him by the name Potter again, "that would be wonderful."

The goblin's stunned expression at being referred to in such a polite manor by a human lasted for a single second before it was replaced with a toothy grin.

"Right this way, sir," he directed them to a door labelled 'Head Goblin' and opened it, "Master Ragnok is waiting for you."

Harry thanked the goblin and Remy nodded to him before they turned and entered the office.

The room was well furnished, with oaken furniture and several intricate tapestries draped over walls. Sets of shining armour were displayed around the room. The carpet had an alluring pattern, green and gold woven together by a set of skilful hands.

Harry bowed low to the Head Goblin as he observed the room, nudging Remy into doing the same.

"Greetings, Head Goblin Ragnok," Harry started respectfully, "we came here today to inspect the state of my vaults and to perform a Blood Adoption ritual, but I am without my key because Albus Dumbledore and the Weasley family are in possession of it currently. We would like to request the assistance of the American Gringotts in these matters."

It was formal, and most of it went over Remy's head, but he could tell that it was carefully worded to sway the goblin in their favour.

"Why did Dumbledore have your key in the first place, Mr Potter?" sneered the goblin. Harry resisted the strong urge to sneer at the snobby attitude.

"He sealed my parents wills, imprisoned my godfather and sent me to live with abusive muggles. I saw my key once in first year, and then never again."

"Why are you here if Dumbledore has gone to such lengths to keep you under him?"

The goblin was sharp and to the point. To Remy, it seemed almost as though he was testing Harry.

"My relatives came here for a 'holiday' this summer, Master Ragnok, and brought me along with them. Three weeks ago yesterday, my uncle, Mr Vernon Dursley, drove me to the heart of the city, dragged me into a darkened alley and beat me within an inch of my life. My companion found me and has cared for me like no other has."

"Very well, Mr Potter," the goblin said, smirking, "you have passed my tests. We will recall all wealth and keys stolen from you and re-key your vaults in Britain. Anything else?"

"Yes, actually, Master Goblin," said Harry, "I would like to liquefy all my assets – excluding shares – and transfer my vaults to this branch of Gringotts, as I can clearly see that you are far more competent when it comes to the security of customers."

The goblin smirked.

"Of course, Mr Potter. If you will wait one moment."

The goblin disappeared behind his desk, leaving Harry and Remy alone in the room. Ten minutes later, he remerged.

"Your request has been completed, Mr Potter. Would you like to use a card to access you money, or a purse?"

"Like a credit card?" Harry asked incredulously. The goblin smirked again and nodded.

"Yes, although keyed into your blood so that only you may use it."

"That would be brilliant, Master Goblin," answered Harry, "but might it be better to wait until after the Blood Adoption to set this up?"

"Yes, Mr Potter," said the goblin, grin vicious, "and you just passed another test. Congratulations; you may now move into the ritual chamber."

"Thank you, Head Goblin Ragnok," Harry answered, bowing deeply once again before motioning to Remy to follow him.

Making their way to the room where they would perform the ceremony, Harry stopped him just outside the door.

"Once you go in, you can't come out until it's complete," he warned, eyes serious, "are you sure you want to do this?"

Remy smiled gently.

"Oui," he said, "I be doin' it fo' me as well as yo', cheri."

"Ok," Harry responded simply before he stepped through the door. Steeling his suddenly jumpy nerves, Remy followed.


	4. Chapter 4

CHAPTER 4

"Please step into the circle," commanded the goblin on a pedestal in the centre of the room, which was simple grey stone lit brightly with candles that were placed at even intervals. Remy and Harry stepped forward, feeling the tingle of magic begin to permeate the room.

"Do you have anything in your genes that is hereditary, Adopter?" questioned the goblin. Remy nodded.

"De X-Gene be inherited, Master Goblin."

"What level mutant are you, Adopter?"

"Alpha, Master Goblin."

"Adoptee," the goblin turned to Harry, "are you prepared to become a mutant in being adopted by this individual?"

Harry nodded determinedly.

The goblin held out a dagger and a bowl filled with a translucent, cloudy liquid. Both items were covered in delicate runes.

"Adoptee," he faced Harry, "slide this blade through the palm of your dominant hand and allow the blood to drip into the bowl."

Harry took the blade, which was shining in the candlelight, and sliced his right palm. He made no noise to show his discomfort, though his right eyes twitched slightly. Holding his hand over the small bowl, Harry watched his blood drip into the water. Instead of turning deep red, like they expected, however, it turned sky blue. The goblin handed him a white cloth to put over the bleeding wound.

"Adopter," the goblin turned to Remy, moving the bowl and pulling out a different dagger, "please slide this blade over the palm of your dominant hand and allow the blood to drip into the bowl."

Remy, although sceptical, copied Harry and slit his right hand, wincing at the sharp sting. His blood dripped into the blue water and turned it into a deep purple.

"Adoptee," the goblin turned back to Harry, "please repeat after me:

"Magia mea invocavi sanguine corpus mutare. Et in ea sanguis meus a patre me mutat mutari. Hae mutationes in vita mea accipio. Sic ergo, sic fiat."

Harry dutifully repeated what he had said.

"Adopter," the goblin turned to face Remy, who panicked because of his accent, "please repeat after me:

"Te invoco magicis meis, ut ligaretur pannis, socii sanguinis. Sit nobis, familia ad finem. Sic ergo, sic fiat."

Remy repeated it, surprised at his suddenly 'normal' voice.

"Please drink from the bowl," instructed the goblin, "adoptee first."

Harry shrugged, grabbing the bowl and drinking half of the liquid. He was surprised when it tasted of treacle tart. Handing it over to Remy, he watched his eyebrows rise at the taste. Almost as soon as the bowl was empty, Harry dropped to the ground screaming. The pain was incredible. It felt like everything inside of him was being ripped out and rearranged.

"R-Remy!" he yelped through the miasma of fire surrounding his body. Remy moved to help him, to comfort him – anything! – but the firm grip of the goblin prevented him.

"If you touch him then he will die," the goblin warned, "his body and magic are changing to accept your DNA and the mutation."

"How long will dis take?" demanded Remy; he hated seeing Harry hurting.

"It is different for everyone," the goblin explained, seeming to take pity on the panicking mutant, "although most seem to take about twenty minutes."

Remy sat back and waited. Ten minutes passed, and then twenty, and Harry was still writhing on the floor like he was having a seizure. Time stretched on; thirty minutes, forty minutes, and Harry wasn't stopping.

Finally, after 55 minutes, Harry stopped thrashing around and his breathing evened out.

"You may go to him now," the goblin told Remy. Instantly, he was at Harry's side, pulling him into a hug and checking him over for physical changes. He was surprised at how different Harry looked.

He was definitely taller, and wasn't as skinny. His hair was neater, and slightly lighter in colour. It looked very similar to Remy's, although it had a red hue that was probably from his mother. His skin was more tan, less of a sickly, moon-like colour, and his fingers were long and thin, delicate yet strong looking. His nose, mouth and eye-shape stayed the same, but Remy couldn't see his eyes yet.

"Will his mutation be de same as mine?" he asked the goblin, who shrugged.

"Maybe, maybe not," he answered, "if he didn't have the X-Gene before, then yes, but if it was dormant, then the addition of yours will have merely awoken what was already there, although it may have influenced it slightly. For example, if you were a shapeshifter and he was a dormant telekinetic, his ability would change so that he could shape other objects with his mind. Understand?"

"Oui, I understand dat," Remy answered. Their conversation was cut short as Harry groaned, shifting in Remy's arms.

"Anyone catch the plates on the bus that hit me?" he moaned, "'Cause I'm suing."

Remy laughed.

"Yo' alright, cheri?" he asked. Harry nodded.

"I think so," he answered, "that was worse than the Cruciatus, though; I don't wanna do it again."

"You can't," the goblin interrupted, "it was recorded that Harry James Potter and Remy Etienne Lebeau underwent a Blood Adoption ritual, and neither of you will be allowed to participate in another again. It would unbalance the magic and you'd be torn apart."

"Could we change my name, Master Goblin?" asked Harry.

"Of course, sir. If you would bother follow me?"

Harry stood, surprised to find that he didn't need his glasses and that the ground was further away. The clothes that he was wearing were also tighter; they belonged to Remy, and weren't too big anymore. In other words, Harry noticed that he'd grown. A lot.

Light brown strands fell in his eyes, and his hair brushed over his neck, tickling him. He looked to Remy, locking eyes with him. The mutant froze.

"Remy?" he asked cautiously. The mutant blinked.

Inside, Remy was dying. Harry's eyes had remained green, but were ringed in black, and his left eye had the bottom left quarter completely crimson. It looked like a piece of Remy had settled into Harry.

"Yo' eyes," he breathed. Harry furrowed his eyebrows and attempted to conjure a mirror. He was surprised that his magic flowed so smoothly. Looking the mirror he was stunned. He was surprised at the changes, but quite happy with his new look; he looked like Remy.

"Are you coming or not?" the goblin called from a small room down the hall. They hurried to catch up.

The goblin was waiting for them, several sheets of paper, a fountain pen and another dagger on the desk in front of him.

"Take a seat, please," he said. They obliged, sitting in the comfortable chairs. The goblin slid the papers over the table, and handed the dagger to Harry.

"Prick your finger and allow the blood to drip onto the paper. Harry did so, watching as his blood was absorbed and crimson ink began to write on the page.

**Birth Name:** Harry James Potter

**Birth Father:** James Charlus Potter (deceased)

**Birth Mother: **Liliana Grace Potter (nee Evans) (deceased)

**Birth Date:** 31st July 1980

**School:** Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry (Scotland)

**Adoptive Name: **

**Adoptive Parent(s): **

**School:**

Harry looked at the paper in wonder. It was just like a DNA test. The last line confused him though.

"Why is there a space under the adoptive section labelled 'school'?" he asked. The goblin looked at the page before answering.

"I'm assuming that neither of you are happy with your current schooling arrangements?" he asked. Both Harry and Remy shook their heads.

"Then that space is there for you to change his school if you wish. If not, you can just leave it blank."

"T'ank you, Master Goblin," said Remy sincerely. He was already planning on moving Harry from Hogwarts to Professor X's institute after the Adoption; this just made it easier.

"You're welcome, Mister LeBeau," answered the goblin, handing over the pen, "if you could just fill this out, then we'll be done and it will be irreversible. I'll leave you to discuss your decision."

The goblin exited the room, leaving the two of them alone. Remy quickly wrote down his name on the 'Adoptive Parent' line.

"What should my name be?" asked Harry.

"Alexandre," answered Remy immediately, before blushing and looking down, "I always say dat I'd name a son o' mine Alexandre. Yo' can pick de middle name, if yo' want."

"Remy," Harry mumbled.

"Oui, cheri?" he responded.

"No, I mean I want my middle name to be Remy, if that's ok with you," the teen blushed. Remy smiled; it touched his heart.

"O' course; dat be fine wit' me."

Harry smiled, but it dropped quickly.

"What about school?" he asked glumly, "I _won't_ go back to Hogwarts, but I can't go to a mundane school with my eyes; I know about human-mutant discrimination. I-"

"Calm, cheri," Remy interrupted, "dere be a mutant school right here in New York. Dey be acceptin' any wit' new abilities an' helpin' 'em wit' dere control. Dat be ok wit' yo', cheri?"

Harry smiled.

"That's perfect," he said. The both signed off on the paper, retrieved Harry's – now Alexandre's – card and left, disappearing into the world.


	5. Chapter 5

CHAPTER 5

The mansion in front of them was huge. Its old brick structure was covered in snaking vines, giving it an almost medieval appearance. A large 'X' was emblazoned in the centre of the towering metal gates separating them from the massive building.

"This is the Institute?" Alex asked, sceptical. Remy nodded. After the Adoption, they had decided that nothing had changed between them, and that Alex would be played off as a long-lost younger brother. As long as there were no blood tests, their story was believable – enforced by the fact that they look similar and had mental shields.

"Push de button, cheri," encouraged Remy. Reluctantly, Harry did. Almost immediately, a cultured voice answered via an intercom.

"What is your business here?" it asked.

"Gambit be allowed ta visit an old home, eh? Won't yo' let us in?" Remy responded, slipping behind a mask that was reserved for others. He'd told Alex to try and mask his accent. Alex had succeeded in speaking convincing Canadian, and used all the French words that Remy did out of habit, but couldn't quite get the Cajun twang to it.

There was a sigh.

"I'll be there in a moment, Gambit."

"I'll be waitin', Hank." The intercom shut off with a crackle.

"Where's the Professor?" asked Alex. Remy shrugged.

"Probably waitin' in his office ta talk ta us, if he hasn' changed."

"You didn't tell me you'd brought a guest, Gambit," scolded the cultured voice from the other side of the fence. Alex was surprised to find a tall, apelike man covered in blue fur to be its owner. He'd have thought it belonged to someone more like Professor Xavier.

"Jus' Gambit's li'l brot'er, Hank," he answered nonchalantly, "he be needin' help wit' his new powers."

'Hanks' eyes roved over Alex, seeming to judge the truth of the statement.

"So this isn't a social call like you made it out to be?" asked 'Hank', eyes looking disapproving. Remy shrugged.

"Didn' want de kiddies hangin' around de intercom ta hear dat dere be a new student yet," he said, "we gotta talk ta Professor X first."

"Fine," huffed the blue man… beast, opening the gates and leading them in.

Alex's strange eyes grew wider as he took in the antique, yet modern interior. It was clearly an old building, although the technology in it told of frequent updates. Alex made a mental note not to practice his magic in here. It took moments to arrive at the correct door.

"There professor's in here," directed 'Hank', "he's expecting you, Gambit, and an explanation."

"O' course," Gambit answered dutifully, "Gambit be explainin' everyt'in' ta de professor."

With that, they entered the office, Alex anxious and Remy with an extra bounce in his step.

"Hello, Remy," greeted a smooth, deep, calming voice, "how have you been?"

A bald man sat in an electric wheelchair, wheels also emblazoned with an 'X', at a dark, wooden desk. His aristocratic face was kindly and full of knowledge. His eyes held a certain depth to them that instantly made Alex wary; Remy had warned him that the man was the most powerful telepath in America, possibly the world. He had been told by Psylocke – a telepath they had met whilst traveling here – that he had shields like Remy's, as though his thoughts were surrounded by a wall of static, but that didn't reassure him.

"Dis be Remy's li'l brot'er, Alexandre Remy Lebeau," answered Remy, "an' he jus' recently come inta his mutant powers. Remy unsure o' what he can do, so he t'ought he betta bring him ta yo', Professo'."

"A wise choice, Remy," the bald man turned to Alex, "I am Charles Xavier, Headmaster of this school. I am the world's foremost mutant representative, and the world's most accomplished telepath. I notice that you have very distinctive eyes, much like your brother's; maybe you also have a kinetics-based ability?" he mused. Alex took note of the fact that he didn't say that he was the most 'powerful', just the most 'accomplished'.

Did that mean that there was a mutant somewhere that the Professor knew who was _more_ powerful with _less_ skill? The thought worried him.

"Perhaps," Alex answered vaguely; he knew that he produced a large – shockingly so – amount of energy. It was enough that, if he ate enough high calorie foods, he could forgo sleep for longer than was probably healthy with no adverse side-effects.

"The best way to discover this would be in the Danger Room, I think," the Professor suggested after staring into nothing for a few moments. Alex had a feeling he had been trying to slip into his mind. "How do you feel about this, Remy?" he asked the other mutant, who shrugged.

"Gambit be fine wit' dat, as long as no harm comes ta him," he answered protectively. Xavier nodded.

"Of course," he said passively, "right this way, please."

Following the man as he rolled through the halls in his motorised wheel chair drew them a lot of attention. Several students greeted Remy with hesitance, but some others said hello quite enthusiastically. All Remy did was smile as they continued.

Down the lift and to the left, Harry discovered an observation area looking down upon a metal room.

"This is the Danger Room, Alexandre," the Professor introduced, "just do what feels natural to you, and your mutation should make itself obvious."

"Ok," Alex answered, "and please, Professor, call me Alex."

"Of course, Alex; if you would please enter the Room?" the Professor asked as he opened a door into another elevator. Stepping through, Alex waited as it descended, and then stepped out into the room.

"I'm going to start it on an easy simulation," came the Professor's voice over the intercom, "are you ready?"

Alex nodded, giving a thumbs-up, and the simulation started.

Immediately, lasers and gunshots began firing in a random pattern. Dodging like they were spells, Alex looked for their sources. Finding a rapid-fire machine-gun embedded in the wall, Alex began to move towards it, searching himself for something he could use to disable it. A sharp burn told him that one of the beams had brushed his shoulder. Hissing, he put a hand over it, only to find the burn healed. Looking astonished, he shook it off for later consideration.

Not knowing why, he focused the constant thrum of energy – of power – in his body lately on his hand and aimed them towards the gun. He was certainly surprised when a beam of energy – looking surprisingly similar to the energy Remy used – flew from his palms and blasted the gun to pieces. He continued to do this until everything firing at him was no longer functioning.

"Well done, Alex," commented the Professor, "there's really not much that you need to be taught."

"Thank you, Professor," he mumbled, blushing slightly because he'd forgotten his watchers. Making his way to the door he had entered through, he found it open and waiting. Stepping inside, he waited patiently as the elevator rose.

As soon as he got out, he was crushed in a hug and inspected.

"Remy be seein' yo' get hit wit' de beam. Yo' ok, cheri?" asked a somewhat frantic Remy. Alex snickered at the mother-henning.

"I'm fine, Remy," Alex assured him, "it healed almost immediately." The Professor's sculpted eyebrows rose.

"Self-regenerative secondary mutation?" he murmured to himself, "how extraordinary. I would probably class you as a high-range alpha level mutant – like Remy and myself – unless a tertiary ability emerges; you would then be a definite omega."

He seemed to be mostly talking to himself, although Alex could see that Remy was taking it in. His eyebrows rose past his fringe.

"Dere be such a t'ing as a t'ird ability, Professo'?" he asked, surprised. The Professor seemed to come out of a daydream.

"Yes," he stated, "there have been about less than ten recorded cases of this in the past, most of which occurred in the past decade. Although your mind is shielded, Alex, I can feel that you are very powerful and have a tight leash on that power. I am sure you will do great things."

Alex resisted the urge to snort. That was not the first time someone had said that to him, he thought, as he remembered back, to his first year at Hogwarts and Ollivander's comment.

"Remy be givin' him de grand tour?" asked his 'brother'. He really did think of Remy as a cool older brother, although he was technically his father.

"Of course; if you would follow Remy, he will show you around," the Professor began to wheel away as he spoke, beckoning them to follow, "I will gather the students and staff into the War Room for introductions in an hour. Is that acceptable?"

Alex giggled quietly at the similarities between the Professor and the goblins from earlier whilst Remy agreed.


	6. Chapter 6

CHAPTER 6

The tour of the mansion was fun; Alex figured he'd have no problem navigating, considering what Hogwarts was like. He scowled unintentionally. Bloody wizards.

"We got ta get ta de War Room now, Alex," Remy interrupted his musing. Nodding, he followed the other mutant back through the Institute. A set of wooden doors met them, although Alex could almost instinctively tell that they were more that they appeared. Voicing them to Remy, he was surprised that he got an answer.

"Dey be made o' energy," was the answer, surprisingly simple, "I be able ta feel dem as well. Ya get used ta it wit' time."

Entering the room, Alex was surprised at how few people were there.

A tell woman with dark skin and pure white hair stood out the most, although not by far. There was 'Hank' and another blue man (although this one looked more like a devil than King Kong), and a relatively normal looking boy with blonde hair and blue eyes. Two girls were whispering in the corner, one who looked like any teenager, although a little short, and another with long brown hair that had a single white streak at the front. The one with the white streak was completely covered; the only part of skin you could see was her face.

Standing on either side of the Professor were three people; the two to his right – one male and one female – were clearly a couple, and they looked – oddly – like everything people described James and Lily Potter to be. The man to Professor Xavier's left, however, gave off a stranger energy than the rest of them. He seemed almost… like a wild animal.

"Ah, right on time," muttered Professor Xavier, "Alex, these are the permanent residents of the Institute; I shall let you all introduce yourselves, as I believe I have a guest."

With that, he wheeled out of the room, leaving a stunned Alex in his wake.

"Hey, Remy," giggled the girl with the white streak of hair. Remy, to Alex's surprise, sent her a look of disdain.

"Another swamp rat?" demanded the wild-seeming man in a low, gruff voice. Remy glared.

"Yo' can all be sayin' d'ese t'ings about Gambit, but yo' _not_ be insultin' his brot'er!" snapped the Cajun angrily. If the looks of surprise on their faces were anything to go by, Remy didn't normally stand against them.

"Brother?" demanded the man who looked like James Potter, his crimson glasses shining in the bright sunlight streaming through the large window.

"He has the same static around his mind as Gambit, hun," whispered the Lily-look-alike to the James-look-alike. Alex glared angrily.

"Stay outta my head, lady," he growled lowly, feeling his energy channelling to his hands. A firm hand squeezing his arm made him stop.

"My apologies," she said, making sure to keep a tight shield around her mind. She was curious – oh, so _very_ curious – about this new mutant who only seemed to add to the mystery that was Remy LeBeau.

"Maybe de introductions could be made, non?" interrupted Remy. The tension in the room was so thick it was like wading through molasses.

"Ov course," agreed the rather demonic looking man in what was probably the kindest voice Alex had ever heard, his words coloured slightly with a faint German accent.

"I am Kurt Vagner, also known as ze Nightcrawler."

"What can you do?" asked Alex politely. He was currently of the mentality that, if they didn't do anything to him, he wouldn't do anything to them.

As a demonstration, Kurt disappeared with a strange 'pfft' noise and a flash of red light (red seemed to be an ongoing theme here), only to appear on the table, crouched somewhat like a frog. Harry grinned

"That's cool," he said, walking confidently over to Kurt and holding out his hand for a shake. The surprised blue mutant accepted with his three-fingered hand.

"T'ank you," he responded, somewhat stunned.

"Can we do the introductions in a circle please, and give a demonstration – if possible – of your abilities so I know who you are?" asked Harry. Everyone nodded, moving into the requested shape. Pointing to the person to the right of Kurt, Harry demanded that they begin.

"I'm Kitty," said the normal looking girl, "I can go through things." She stuck her hand through the table.

"Ah'm Rogue," continued the girl who was completely covered with a very strong southern accent, "an' I can absorb anotha' mutants powers an' memories." Rogue gave no demonstration.

"I am Ororo Munroe," the woman with the white hair introduced, "and I am hailed as a weather goddess in my home tribe." A brisk wind whipped through the room, rustling papers.

"Scott Summers," the James-look-alike was next, "and I produce a laser with my eyes. If my glasses are removed, I can't stop it."

"Jean Grey," the woman who had entered Alex's mind without permission, "I am both telepathic and telekinetic, and the Professor labelled me as an omega level mutant, and I have a degree in medical sciences."

Alex would not be relaxing around her.

"I'm Bobby, the Iceman!" The normal looking guy said, sounding super hyped up. He quickly changed appearance, looking not-normal as his entire body turned ice-blue.

The wild man was next; Alex got the feeling that there was more to him than was obvious, and that they wouldn't get along very well just yet, if at all.

"Logan," he grunted, and with a _snikt_, two sets of three shiny, metal claws cut through the skin on his knuckles. It didn't feel like normal metal, though; it seemed to be more charged with energy than the rest of the room. Alex narrowed his eyes.

"What type of metal is that?" he asked. Logan's eyes narrowed as well.

"Why're ya askin', bub?" he growled.

"I don't have to explain myself to you," Harry answered angrily. The sprouting argument was interrupted before it could gather any steam.

"I'm Dr Henry McCoy," the King Kong looking man who had brought them through the gates introduced himself quickly, "although I am also known as Hank, or Beast when on missions. My ability is pretty obvious," he gestured to the obscene amount of muscle his body supported, "and I am also the team's doctor."

"What'd I miss?" a young male voice asked from the door. Turning, Alex found a guy around his height with messy, light brown hair and several technology-based pieces of equipment on him, such as his simple-looking goggle-glasses and right leg.

"Introductions," answered Alex, "I'm Alex LeBeau, and I'm new here."

"Forge," the guy responded, holding out a hand, "I'm an inventor – wait, your last name's LeBeau?"

"Yes," Alex answered warily, shaking the hand briefly, "what of it?"

"You're related to Gambit?"

"Obviously," he muttered sarcastically.

"Why don't you speak in third person with the cool accent then?" he demanded. Alex sighed, turning to face the entire group. Many of them had a similar curiosity expressed in the wideness of their eyes and their subtle leaning towards him. Kurt was still sitting on the table, but was casually observing his tail as he flicked it from left to right, but Logan had moved to the window and was looking out onto a lake boredly.

"Alright," Alex started loudly, "I only want to have to explain this once. I am Remy's little brother; he grew up in New Orleans, I grew up in Canada," for some reason, Logan growled lowly, "and I didn't meet him until I came into my abilities and was dumped back in Louisiana. He found me – by creepy coincidence – we discovered we were family and here we are."

"That doesn't match up, bub," growled Logan. Did he do anything without growling? A queasy feeling settled in the LeBeau family's chests.

"What do yo' mean, Wolvie?" asked Remy smoothly, but there was a hard edge to his voice. Remy moved to stand between Alex and the others, subtly putting his hands where he could reach his weapons.

"He don't smell like Canada," said the burly man, "an' he don't smell like your brother." The two made eye contact across the room, glaring. Remy grabbed his bo staff and looked to the others.

"If yo' could all please make yo'r way to de nearest exit, Gambit be appreciatin' it a lot; Wolvie an' I be havin' some t'ings ta discuss."

Scott and Jean stood their ground whilst the rest – hearing a dangerous undertone – wisely left.

"What's going on?" demanded Summers. Alex could feel the not-so-subtle poking of the telepath trying to pick through the static guarding his head, but he felt helpless in the fact that there was nothing he could do about it.

A sharp pain lanced through his head as Jean prodded particularly hard and he screamed, barely noticing everyone bar Remy being thrown against the walls, the telepath's nose bleeding as she clutched her head. Alex felt wave after wave of intense power flowing through him as the kinetic energy pulsed throughout the room in an attempt to protect its host.

A warm, familiar hand on his back and a soft, deep voice whispering in his ear helped him to calm down. When he did, he surveyed the carnage. The walls and floor appeared to be almost scorched, everything inanimate in the room having been disintegrated. All the mutants, thankfully, seemed to be reasonably unharmed, although Logan seemed to be mighty ticked off, Summers had his eyes squeezed shut and the telepath – he now refused to refer to her by her name – was soaked in the blood that was now sluggishly streaming from her nose as she slumped against the wall, unconscious.

"I-I-" Alex stammered as his body trembled. Warm, strong arms wrapped him in a firm hug, whispering soothing nothings in his ear in that familiar Cajun accent.

"It's ok, cheri," Remy murmured, "yo' was pushed an' yo'r untrained; 'twas gonna happen sooner or later. Everyone be fine, cheri; yo'r ok. I did de same t'ing when I first came inta my ability; takes practice, cheri. Yo'r ok…"

Things continued in this manner long after the Professor came back in, a blonde woman with an apparent obsession with white following in his wake.

"Logan," asked the Professor quietly so as not to disturb the ruffled teen being comforted by the previously though emotionless Gambit, "what happened here?"

"Their story didn' match up," he shrugged, "the kid don't smell of Canada, nor does he smell like the swamp rat's brother. Gumbo got all defensive when I brought it up an' Jeanie obviously tried a bit too hard to get into his head. The energy that kid contains is phenomenal, Chuck."

"You mean they aren't related?" asked the Professor, surprised. Logan shook his head, thinking.

"The smell more like a father and son," answered Wolverine, "and I think you ignored the more pressing issue of the kids power level."

"Yes, he does seem quite powerful, doesn't he?" interrupted a smooth, British-sounding female voice. Logan snarled.

"Frost," he rumbled, "what're _you_ doin' here?"

"She's here to assist with Alexandre; I called her after his demonstration in the Danger Room."

"Why, Chuck?" Logan almost seemed to be… whining, "you _know_ I don' like her!" Xavier chuckled.

"You can be so childish sometimes, Logan." The grumpy feral just huffed, crossing his arms over his muscled chest.

"Hello, young one," Emma murmured, bending down to be a little bit closer to the teen buried in the infamous Gambit's chest, "my name is Emma Frost, and Professor Xavier asked me here to help you with your new powers. Could you introduce yourself to me?"

Alex looked up at the British accent.

"My name is Alex," he mumbled quietly, not bothering with the fake accent, before burying his head back into Remy's chest. The arms tightened slightly around him.

Emma resisted the urge to raise her eyebrows. 'Didn't smell like Canada' indeed; no matter what story they were feeding the rest of the team, that accent _clearly_ placed the child as British.

"Alex," the Professor called, "would you mind explaining why your story and Logan's senses don't match up?"

Remy glared harshly.

"Oui, he do be mindin' explainin'," he snapped, "we told yo' what yo' wanted ta know; if Wolvie can smell somet'in' different, den dat's his problem. Remy was willin' ta explain it ta him before, but not if he be tellin' eveyt'in' ta someone else."

With a final glare to the fumbling Scott and unconscious Jean – how could she try something like that?! – Remy picked up his petit and carried him to the attic room he usually occupied.

"Iz he alright?" asked a soft voice from the shadows, about halfway to the attic. Having already sense that another was following him, Remy didn't jump, but decided against turning around as he continued walking.

"Jean tried ta get inta his head," Remy answered stiffly, "an' mon petit had his full potential break free ta protect him from de intrusion. He just be a li'l tired from de exertion o' channelin' dat much energy before he be ready."

Kurt continued to follow him.

"Why yo' be followin' Remy in de shadows, Kurt?"

"I have been moved to ze other attic room," he answered. Remy nodded.

"Den yo' should be walkin' wit' Remy, not shadowin' his footsteps."

"My apologies," murmured the blue skinned man as he appeared next to Gambit and his sleeping companion and continued to walk. When they reached the attic, Kurt motioned to the left-most door of the three.

"Zis iz my room," he said, walking towards it, "ze middle iz still ze bathroom, and ze right is empty." Nodding his thanks, Remy carried his petit to the room. Finding a nice, king sized bed in the centre, he set Alex down on the left, removing his shoes and socks and tucking him in before making his way out to the main living area and sitting at the table with a fresh-made cup of coffee.

A strange sounding 'pfft' next to him alerted him of the arrival of Kurt.

"Do you vant to explain Logan'z comment downstairs?" he asked softly.

"Can Remy be trustin' yo'?" he asked seriously. Kurt sat down in front of him, a concentrated expression on his face.

"Ja."

"Well, first off, I don' always be speakin' in t'ird person," Remy smiled, and then continued to explain the last four weeks – which felt simultaneously like months and seconds – to a surprised – and occasionally angry – Kurt.


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: *stands there looking starstruck* wow... The reception this story received... just... wow... My first time being accepted into a community, and SO MANY VIEWS! It normally takes WEEKS for my stories to get over a thousand, and I think this one has the most views of any fic I've written TO DATE! **

**Thank you so much for your support! You have no idea how happy it makes me!**

**Also, by popular demand, Logan (who wasn't really going to have much of a major part) is now going to be pro-harry/alex (eventually). I had one request for a good!Hermione, too; anyone else want to add to that? If you want a certain character, let me know in a review and I'll try (no guarantees, though; if they're Harry Potter it will almost definitely happen unless i have some reason for them not to, if they're Marvel based? My knowledge isn't the best... I'll try!**

******I think I'll make this follow the Wolverine and the X-Men TV series on ABC3/NickToons. Also, I know that quite a few of the characters are going to be very OOC; please don't judge me!**

_**Warning: this chapter contains semi-graphic abuse**_

CHAPTER 7

"Freak!" shouted an angry Vernon as they got home from the station, "I'll show you for spreading lies to those _freaks_!"

The walrus ran as fast as his flabby body could carry him to the kitchen, returning with a large, sharp knife. Harry cowered in fear, knowing what was coming. Another word was to be added.

Harry cried out as the tip of the blade pierced the skin of his lower back, Vernon spelling out the letters as he carved them permanently into his nephew's skin.

Murderer.

Right underneath 'Demon', 'Freak' and 'Monster', all branded upon the young teens back in Vernon's horrible handwriting.

Alex woke with a scream. Instantly, Remy and the blue man with the soft voice - Kurt - were in the room. Alex flinched, curling in on himself.

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" He kept sobbing, over and over and over again.

"Remy?" questioned Kurt quietly as they watched on hopelessly.

"His old 'family' be leavin' him wit' some nasty memories, an' some nastier scars," muttered Remy angrily, "dey will pay fo' hurtin' him!"

"Vat did zey do to him?" demanded the angry German. Remy shrugged.

"He was very vague, didn' want ta discuss dem," sighed Remy, "don' blame him. I did see some scars on his back, t'ough not very clear. Dere be lots, t'ough, an' dey be very deep an' very old."

"I might be able to help him," mumbled Kurt reluctantly. Remy's eyes snapped to him.

"How would dat be, hnn?" he asked, intrigued.

"Zat vould be between me unt him, I am afraid," said Kurt defensively, "it is a very private matter."

Remy narrowed his eyes, but nodded as Alex seemed to calm a little, his wild eyes becoming more focused.

"I be leavin' yo' ta try an' help mon petit," he said, eyeballing Kurt, "but if yo' be doin' anyt'in ta hurt him, I be comin' afte' yo' wit' everyt'in' I can t'ink of."

Kurt nodded, turning to the rapidly calming teenager as Gambit closed the door behind him.

"Vould you like some vater?" asked Kurt quietly, so as not to startle the trembling child in front of him. Alex nodded shakily. Popping away with a strange sounding 'pfft' and a swirl of red, Nightcrawler returned moments later with a small glass.

"Don't drink it too fast or it will make you sick," he murmured gently, moving slowly to crouch near Alex's knees on the bed.

"Vould you like to talk about it?" he asked. Alex adamantly shook his head, making Kurt sigh.

"If I vent first, vould you svap a nightmare for a nightmare?"

Alex considered a moment, and then nodded. Kurt squeezed his eyes shut, taking a deep breath, before beginning his story, tail swishing gently behind him.

"As a young boy, my family vas very strictly Casolic. Ven I began to change - to turn blue unt jump from place to place - zey believed me to be possessed by a demon. Zey tried to beat ze 'evil' out of me, unt ven zat failed, zey carved vords into my back as reminderz zat I vas not normal."

Kurt exhaled shakily, body trembling as he turned and pulled his shirt up slightly so that Alex could see the pale scars.

'Freak'. 'Demon'. 'Monster'.

"Vill you trade vun nightmare for anozer?" he whispered, eyes clenched. He had never shared this with another; only because he recognised the signs of similar treatment and because he felt like he needed to help did he speak now of the horrors of his past.

He didn't notice Alex shuffling slowly up the bed until he was wrapped in a hug. He returned the sentiment, gladly accepting the comfort as a single tear crept its way over his discoloured face.

"My mother was a magical witch, born to a non-magical family," he began, accent suddenly British, in a voice so soft he struggled to hear. "Because of this, my aunt was jealous. My mother was everything she wasn't; smart, beautiful, talented and – now – magical. My mum was the perfect daughter. My aunt resented her all of her life.

"When my parents were murdered when I was a baby, my stupid headmaster placed me with my aunt and her bigoted husband so I could be protected by 'blood wards'."

Kurt could hear the sneer in the words, though they were softer than a whisper.

"My accidental magic caused them to hate me. When I was four, I lost almost all use of my left hand because my aunt held it in the hot plate for a full minute after I accidentally burnt the hollandaise sauce for their precious son's birthday Eggs Benedict. I still have major nerve damage in that hand; it's absolutely useless to me now."

He laughed bitterly, pulling away from the hug and drawing his knees up, clasping he arms around them as he continued to speak.

"When I was five and went to school for the first time, I believed my name was Boy or Freak, and I'd grown up in the cupboard under the stairs. I panicked when the teacher told me my name was Harry instead of those things and accidentally turned her hair blue.

"When I got home that night, 'Demon' was carved into my back for my 'demonic powers'."

Kurt was about to pull him back when he continued.

"In my fourth year at Hogwarts - the magic school - there was a tournament. By some twist of fate, both myself and the guy I had been dating at the time ended up competing. At the end of that year, he was murdered right in front of me and I was used in a ritual to bring back this century's dark lord. When I had nightmares at the Dursley's, they found out that I was gay and that I had aided - however reluctantly - a killer in returning.

"That night, they carved 'Freak' and 'Monster' into my back, right underneath 'Demon'.

"But my nightmare tonight was of this summer," Alex's - or was his name Harry? - story began to wind down.

"My godfather was the closest connection to my parents that I had. I did something stupid, and I got him killed. My stupid headmaster and his little group of vigilantes told the Dursley's to 'go easy on me' because he died.

"They branded me a murderer the night when w-e got h-ome."

Alex broke down in sobs, turning his face into Kurt as the blue man - who was so similar yet so different - hugged him tightly.

"You're ok," he murmured, "Ich bin hier, it vill be alright."

"Y-you're-" Alex hiccuped, "-you're the first person I told." He buried himself deeper in the elf's chest, tears staining the plain white shirt and making the milky buttons slippery.

"It is ze same for me," admitted Kurt, "I have not told anozer of my treatment before, alzough ze Professor did find me being chased by an angry mob."

Alex looked up, multi-coloured eyes locking with Kurt's yellow ones as though he was examining his soul. Then, he smiled and snuggled deeper.

Kurt and Alex stayed like that, cuddled up, revelling in – yet somewhat disgusted by – the fact that there was another like them. There was another who _understood_.

"Should we go and get breakfast?" asked Alex, looking up again. Kurt nodded.

"Ve should," he agreed, standing up and holding out a three-fingered hand, "Remy iz vaiting for us outside."

"Did he tell you anything?" asked Alex, somewhat suspicious, as he accepted the assistance. He had told Remy that he could tell one person; he'd expected the master thief to wait a while to decide.

"He told me about vere he found you, and vat you told him," Kurt responded, eyes judging Alex's reaction. Alex nodded.

"I expected him to wait a while," he said, voice dropping to a whisper, "but I think you were a good choice."

Kurt smiled.

"Yo' all good now, cheri?" asked Remy, becoming a mother hen again, "he didn' do anyt'in' he be needin' punishment fo'?"

Alex shook his head, smiling slightly.

"No," he answered, accent still British, "he helped me in a way that you couldn't have."

Remy's eyes dropped, and Alex felt his heart go soft as he moved to hug him.

"Trust me, Remy," he murmured, "you don't want to be able to help me like he did."

The Cajun looked up, red-on-black eyes searching for something. Seeming to have found it, he nodded, a vicious smirk working its way onto his face.

"Bien, cheri," he chuckled, "pas de manigances."

Alex blushed, face lighting up like the fourth of July, and smacked Remy on the shoulder.

"Uncalled for!" he exclaimed. Remy laughed. Looking at Kurt, Harry blushed again. The blue man's face was a mixture of amusement – at Alex's reaction to what Remy said – and confusion as to what Remy actually said.

"Vat did you say?" he asked, laughter in his voice as Alex slapped a hand over Remy's mouth.

"Let's go get breakfast!" he said, far louder than he needed to, as he dragged Remy away, whispering quickly in his ear in what seemed to be French. Remy laughed, motioning to Kurt to follow.

"Vell," he muttered to himself as he followed the pair, "things vill certainly be more interesting around he now, zat's for sure."


	8. Chapter 8

CHAPTER 8

The breakfast room was crowded; everyone from the introductions yesterday was there, including the Professor and the woman named Emma. It was a crowded room.

"Go on," murmured Kurt as Alex froze in the doorway, "just grab ze food and retreat to ze corner." Alex did so very quickly; unfortunately for him, everyone wanted to speak to the new guy.

Particularly Logan.

"Wanna answer my questions yet, bub?" he asked, blocking off any exit Alex may have had. Keeping his head down, Alex dutifully ignored the quickly-angering feral. Everyone in the room had stopped what they were doing, waiting to see what would happen.

"Why're you here?" growled the Wolverine, towering over the small brunette.

"Leave my student alone, Logan," interrupted Emma, stepping forward and glaring steadily at him. He turned to her and snarled.

"This ain't none o' your business, Frost," he growled. She scoffed.

"He is my student," she stated, sounding somewhat pompous and very annoyed, "and he is frightened. Therefore, it _is_ my business."

She stalked over, shoving the stout feral out of the way and kneeling in front of Alex.

"You ok, sweet?" she asked softly. Alex nodded, shuffling backwards a bit. Emma took the tiniest peek at what his mind looked like, but backed out immediately at the large amount of static she found blocking her.

She would not push any mutant containing that much raw energy.

"Thanks," he whispered softly, accent a very convincing Canadian. Emma nodded.

"If you need me, sweet, just call out for me and I'll hear," she said. There was something about this boy that brought out her long-thought-lost maternal instincts.

"T'anks fo' deterrin' de Wolverine, Frost," said Remy, suddenly next to Alex, "Gambit be very grateful."

"I will protect my students, Master Thief," she said snobbishly, "do not be surprised."

With a nod, Emma Frost went back to her breakfast.

"Yo' alright, cheri?" asked Remy when everyone had returned to their business. Alex nodded.

"Fine," he said, sounding better than he had looked mere minutes ago, "I just don't deal well with bullies."

"I know," muttered Remy, "but Logan ain' gonna stop 'til he gets answers, cheri."

Alex sighed.

"I know."

"I do apologise for that, Alex," said the cultured voice of the Professor, "Logan gets very defensive against unknowns. I hope you can forgive him and try to work with him?"

"Maybe I will and maybe I won't, Professor," said Alex defiantly, causing the Professor's face to fall, "it depends on if he changes or not."

"Logan is very stubborn," wheedled Xavier, "perhaps if you would tell him so that he understood why you don't match up?"

Alex growled, surprising everyone.

"No, _sir_," the word was said like an insult, "I will _not_ disclose my secrets to a stranger who has done nothing but bully me. You remind me far too much of my old headmaster."

At this, Kurt scowled, surprising everyone even more. Kurt never scowled except when he lost a Danger Room challenge.

"Of course, Alexandre," the sudden use of his full name did not go unnoticed by Alex, "I understand and respect your wishes."

"Thank you, Professor Xavier," Alex answered, equally formal but far more frosty, "If I could continue my breakfast?"

"Of course, Alexandre," the Professor said, nodding as he wheeled away. Alex sneered at his receding back.

"Manipulative old fool," muttered Alex angrily as he attacked his bacon with renewed vigour, "why are they always trying to get to _me_? Why can't they go after each other and leave us normal people alone?"

Remy struggled to contain his laughter at the mumbled rant and Kurt just looked amused, his anger gone.

"Yo' alright, cheri?" asked the Cajun through his laughter. Alex glared, causing both of the attic-dwellers to burst into raucous giggles.

"Stupid adults and their stupid sense of humour," muttered the teen darkly.

"I'll have you know zat I am only twenty-seven!" exclaimed Kurt. Alex smirked.

"Therefore you are an ooooooold adult!" he taunted. The Nightcrawler sputtered indignantly whilst Remy laughed harder. Kitty and Rogue were giggling behind their hands and Bobby looked somewhat constipated in his attempt to not laugh.

Dr Grey, Summers and Logan did not look amused. Hank was blissfully unaware of the arguing trio and Storm was smiling slightly as she made her morning coffee.

"Gambit be findin' dis conversation very funny," he sputtered through his laughter. Alex looked amused.

"I'm assuming you're older than Kurt?" he asked, head tilted, eyes wide. He looked the perfect picture of innocence.

"Come now, cheri," Remy laughed, "yo' don' need ta know Remy's age; only one be needin' ta know dat is Remy."

Alex smirked again.

"Of course; only Remy needs to know that he's thirty two" he whispered so that only Kurt and Remy could hear him.

Remy spluttered.

"How did yo' find dat info'mation!" he yelped. Most of the X Men laughed, although Logan and the Professor raised an identical eyebrow.

"He knows the swamp rat's age?" asked a sceptical Logan. The Professor nodded pensively.

"It appears so," he answered, "and Remy didn't tell him, which means that the information is out there somewhere."

"The only problem with that is how we find it," muttered Logan grumpily.

Alex smirked at his glaring companion.

"I have my sources," he answered cryptically. Remy grumbled about annoying teenagers as everyone went back to their now-cold breakfasts for the second time that morning.

After breakfast was over, Alex decided that he wanted to explore the grounds. Dragging a reluctant Remy and a laughing Kurt, he ran all over the place. After half an hour of that, he got bored and initiated a game of hide-and-seek.

"You guys count to twenty and then come and find me!" he exclaimed excitedly, shoving them inside before running off.

Shrugging, the two twenty year olds counted and went to search. Kurt teleported to everywhere he could think of as a hiding place, searching cupboards, bedrooms, even the Danger Room.

Remy, on the other hand, tracked the kinetic energy that Alex leaked, and would continue to leak until he got better control.

Following the trail, he found himself at the edge of the forest, which surprised him. There were many wild animals – quite a few of them dangerous – hidden in the trees, and he had specifically warned Alex not to go in.

"Kurt!" he shouted. The German materialised next to him with that strange 'pfft' he made and a swirl of red.

"Ja?"

"He's in the forest," muttered the Cajun grumpily. Kurt's eyes narrowed.

"Vy vould he go in zere?" he wondered aloud.

Sudden giggles permeated the air.

"Are you gonna keep being worry-warts or a you gonna chase me?" asked Alex's voice from the shadows, his accent reverted to being British. Remy scowled.

"I told yo' not ta go in dere, Alex," he yelled into the darkness. A chuckle above their heads made them look up; there was Alex, sitting calmly on a branch just above their heads where – just minutes ago – there had definitely been no one.

"The creatures in he have _nothing_ on the truck sized spiders and centaurs with anger-management issues in the Forest at Hogwarts," he laughed, "I like it in here."

Kurt laughed, making Remy glare at him.

"It seems zat you are fighting a lozing battle, Remy," laughed the blue mutant. Remy just scowled again.

"Jus' because yo' like it in dere don' mean yo' should be dere," he grumbled. Alex laughed again as he jumped down lightly from the tree.

"I can defend myself fine, père," he murmured as he pulled the worried Cajun into a hug, "a few wolves won't hurt me."

Remy suddenly stiffened.

"Yo' called me père," he muttered. Alex blushed.

"Yea," he mumbled, cheeks flushing brighter, "is that ok?" Remy smiled.

"When we're alone, cheri," he answered quietly. Kurt smiled softly; Alex had family now.

"Is everything alright here?" asked the familiar voice of Hank. All three spun around suddenly.

"Oui," answered Remy, "Alex be gettin' lost in de forest."

"Is he okay?" asked the other blue man worriedly. Kurt nodded.

"Ja, he iz fine."

"Good," nodded Hank, "the Professor would like to begin his training in the Danger Room as soon as possible after yesterday's outburst."

Alex scowled.

"I was provoked, you know," he growled, accent Canadian once again. Hank looked surprised.

"What provoked you? Logan assures that he didn't do anything," muttered the blue Beast.

"Miss Grey was trying to force her way into my head," snapped Alex. Hank's eyes locked with his for a moment before he turned and gestured for them to follow him inside.

"Yes, that would do it, I should think," he muttered as he led them inside, "mental attacks have been proven to bring out abilities before their time."

Following the blue man through the maze that was the mansion to the Danger Room took longer than Alex expected. Kurt had turned off at the hallway leading to the kitchen, saying he needed to 'restore ze energy he lost playing ze game'. Alex reckoned he just wanted a snack.

When they reached the Danger Room Observation/Control centre, they found Logan, the Professor and Emma Frost waiting for them.

"It's time to begin your training now, Alexandre," said the Professor as Emma gestured to the door leading down to the Room itself, "good luck."

**SURPRISE A/N: wow... the Professor is turning out a bit more evil than I intended... oops... Also, I know that Gambit is actually only 23, but it fit my purposes better**


	9. Chapter 9

CHAPTER 9

"Mon Dieu!" Alex yelped as a brilliant flash of flames enveloped his midnight coco, which disappeared only to be replaced by a familiar, incredibly smug looking phoenix.

"Alex?" called a sleepy-sounding Remy. Alex panicked.

"Jus' spilled some!" he yelled back, trying to keep his voice calm. He could almost hear the phoenix – annoying ball of chicken fluff – laughing at him.

"Yo' righ'?" asked the tired Cajun.

"Yeah!" Alex turned to glare at Fawkes. "What are you doing _here!_" he whispered forcefully. A parchment envelope covered in swirling green ink appeared on the table in front of him.

_Mr H. J. Potter_

_The Round Table, Attic Room_

_Xavier Mansion, NYC, USA_

"No, you pile of feathers, I'm not touching your spelled letters!"

The bird tweeted reproachfully.

"I know there are spells on it," Alex bit out, "I can feel the compulsions and the energy they produce from here."

The phoenix chirped in alarm, before burning the letter and reproducing a replica, sans spells.

"Thanks," he muttered, still annoyed that the flaming chicken could find him so easily, as he picked up the letter delicately. He held it between two fingers, as though it could infect him with some nasty disease with a mere touch.

'Dear Mr Potter,' the letter began. Alex sighed, frustrated, looking at Fawkes.

"Is he this desperate?" he asked. The bird nodded, looking surprisingly sarcastic. Alex sighed again.

'Dear Mr Potter,

It has come to the attention of the Order that you are no longer with your relatives. They say that they travelled to America at the beginning of the summer for a few days, and that you ran away in one of the busy cities. I implore you to send your location back with Fawkes so that I may come and collect you and send you back to your worried relatives. They miss you, my boy; please come home.

Sincerely,

Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore  
Order of Merlin (First Class), Supreme Mugwump, Grand Sorcerer, Headmaster of Hogwarts, Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot'

Alex snorted.

"Does he really think I'm that stupid?" he asked Fawkes. The bird's ruby shoulders moved in a parody of a shrug, trilling slightly.

"Yeah, those compulsions probably would've helped… Could you stop trying to take me back?" he asked the bird. It looked at him with a hard eye.

"What?"

The bird continued to glare, as if to say 'you're needed in England'.

"I have a family, Fawkes," he muttered to the phoenix, "Remy Blood Adopted me and Kurt's my first real friend. I have new powers now; I need to be trained. Can you leave me be?"

The looked to be considering at first, its regal head bobbing in a nod before trilling in defiance. Alex smiled; Fawkes would keep the meddling old codger in his place.

"Thanks," he whispered as the ancient firebird disappeared in a flash of flames. In its place on the table was a fresh cup of hot coco and a beautiful red feather.

Alex smiled.

"I don't want to go!" Hermione stomped her foot, glaring at her mother as she yelled. June sighed, running a hand through her long brown hair.

"It's only for the rest of the summer, hun," she said tiredly. Although brilliant, her daughter was far too stubborn and spoiled for her own good.

"That's too long! I don't even _like_ her!" she screeched. June snapped.

"That's too bad for you, Hermione Jean Granger," she scolded, "your father and I have a business trip out of the country, and you can't come."

"Why not?" huffed the ticked-off teen, "I've always gone with you before!"

"It will interfere with your Hogwarts education," explained her mother. Hermione sighed; if it was going to interfere with her learning then she'd have to go visit her _horrible_ aunt.

"Fine, mum," she grouched, "when am I leaving?"

"We're flying together until we reach the States, and then John and I will be leaving to for China. Your aunt will fly with you to back to England so you can catch the train. Besides, she's not in Massachusetts anymore; she's teaching at a different school in New York."

Hermione perked up; she hated Massachusetts almost as much as _her, _but having them together made the experience altogether unbearable. At least she'd only have to put up with one of them for the next six weeks.

"When are _we_ leaving, then?" she asked.

"Day after next," answered June, "the flight leaves at ten. Be ready to go at 6:30am."

"Yes mum," she sighed as she walked slowly up the stairs. She spent the next two hours packing for her trip – her extended stay with _her_ – before Flooing to Hogwarts.

"Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Headmaster's Office!" she cried as she stepped into the emerald flames.

"Good evening, Professor," she greeted as she took her usual seat in front of Headmaster Dumbledore.

"Good evening, Miss Granger," he responded in turn, "how may I assist you today?"

"My mum is shipping me off to America to stay with my _aunt_," she sneered at the word, "and I thought I could offer to provide foreign surveillance for Harry; I miss him, sir!"

"Mr Potter is being difficult," sighed Dumbledore, placing his silver-haired head in his gnarled hands, "I sent a letter with Fawkes which was returned unopened."

"But that means that he couldn't find Harry!" exclaimed the suddenly distraught girl, "what if something's happened to him?"

"Be calm, Miss Granger," interrupted Dumbledore, raising a single hand, "Fawkes informed me – rather touchily, I might add – that he had indeed located and examined the health of Mr Potter. He refused quite adamantly, however, to reveal his findings to me. He's been quite grumpy lately, but I cannot ascertain why."

"Maybe his Burning Day is coming up?" asked Hermione, "and anyway; if Owl Post isn't working, the Muggle post can find just about anyone they want to." Dumbledore looked pensive.

"Maybe," he muttered, shuffling around the things in his desk-drawers and pulling out two silver hand-mirrors, engraved in elegant runes and gleaming in the firelight.

"These are communication mirrors," he stated, handing one to the ecstatic witch, "and are used to connect people over long distances. I believe that Mr Potter owns one that is connected to Remus'…" A bright light lit in his eyes. "Yes, that could work…" Hermione eyed the man strangely, a little impatient.

"Professor?" she prodded, "the mirrors?"

"Oh yes," he snapped back to attention, cerulean eyes twinkling, "please excuse an old man's mental wanderings. If you will simply state my full name into the mirror, you shall be able to speak to me. If I'm unavailable at the time, you will be able to leave a message, and the mirror will ring and bounce around incessantly until I answer it."

Hermione giggled a bit, holding the shining trinket reverently.

"Thank you, Professor," she murmured. He nodded.

"Of course, Miss Granger. I believe that you should be making your way home at this time, as your parents may begin to worry."

"Of course, sir," she nodded in respect.

"Granger Residence!" she yelled into the flames, stepping through and back to her room.

Almost immediately, Albus Dumbledore began penning another letter to the elusive Harry Potter. That boy would be back under his thumb by Hogwarts time; he'd make sure of it.

"Who's H. J. Potter?" asked Kitty. Alex sighed.

"An old friend of mine," he sighed, taking the letter and running a hand through his hair. Looking at the envelope, he hoped it was just a bank statement.

He hissed several curses in Parseltongue when he saw the flashy scrawl of Dumbledore. Tearing the letter to pieces, he threw it away, ignoring the shocked looks he was receiving.

"I thought you said that was your friend's letter, Alexandre," scolded Professor Xavier lightly, rolling forward in his little motor-wheelchair. Alex shrugged.

"It's from someone he's not very fond of," he muttered. A gentle brush against his shields made him scowl.

"Wouldn't it have been better to wait and see if _he_ consented to that rather unnecessary reaction?" asked Jean Grey. They hadn't had much contact over the past days (although that may have been because Alex had been avoiding her at all costs).

"He told me to do that every time a letter from that person appeared in the mail," he grit out. Kurt and Remy were still in the attic room, probably sleeping in.

"How would you even know who sent the letter?" asked Bobby curiously. Alex snorted.

"His hand-writing and language is very distinctive," he answered, "trust me; you couldn't mistake it."

"Leave him be," came the collected voice of Emma Frost as she entered the kitchen, "I'd rather not have to deal with any childish behaviour today, as my prissy niece is being sent to me for safe-keeping this summer."

Alex looked up, surprised. He and Emma had been talking a great deal, but she'd never mentioned a family before. Emma looked at him sharply.

"She's very arrogant and self-assured, so try to stay away from her," she stated, although you could hear the subtle warning.

"She a mutant?" grunted Logan from the coffee-pot. Emma shook her head.

"No," she said coolly, "she's a witch."

Alex's world spiralled downwards as he fell to the floor in a dead faint. _It really is a small world_, he thought as the room went dark.


End file.
